Without a Brew

by Ellie Alexander

  “I take it you heard that, Sloan?” She didn’t look up from her notes.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  “I would have asked you to leave if I cared.”

  That I believed. Chief Meyers was nothing if not direct.

  “Anything you want to add?” she asked.

  I told her about my initial conversation with Taylor and then how his story had changed when I bumped into him at the store. “He referred to Liv as Lily then, too.”

  “Noted.” She scribbled something. “Taylor seems to have a habit of changing his story.”

  I agreed, but why? Unless he and Liv had had an argument that no one else had seen, what would his motive be for killing her?

  “Sloan, I’d appreciate it if you’d continue to keep an ear open and let me know right away if you hear anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Will do.” I left the chief and went to check on the rest of the bar. It was humming with the weekend happy hour crowd. Skis and boots were propped up near the front doors. The pulsing beat of Depeche Mode played on the speakers overhead. The windows had begun to steam, and the taps flowed freely.

  I spotted Ali sitting by herself with her head buried in a book.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks streaked from tears. “Do you want the truth? Or should I just say I’m fine?”

  “It’s up to you.” I gave her an empathetic smile. “In my experience, I’ve learned that the truth usually finds a way out regardless. I’m happy to pour you a pint and leave it at that, but if you need to vent, I’m also happy to listen.”

  She swept a finger beneath her eye and nodded to the empty chair across from her. “Do you want to sit?”

  “Can I get you a drink first?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine with water for the moment.”

  I sat down.

  “It feels weird talking to a stranger. I’ve spent so much time hiding my problems from my friends and family.” She dog-eared a page in the book and closed it. I cringed internally. It’s a huge pet peeve and a source of irritation between me and Mac. He wasn’t much of a reader, but on the rare occasion he would pick up a book, it would end up looking like it had weathered a blustery winter storm. Mac would return books to their shelves with cracked spines, crumpled pages, and beer stains.

  My response to Ali was immediate and honest. “I know something about that.”

  “You do?” A sad smile tugged at her cheeks. “Maybe it’s better to confess our issues to someone we don’t know well. It takes the pressure off, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s Brad.” She stared toward the stairwell. “He cheated on me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I could tell that she needed someone to talk to, and I didn’t want to let on that Brad had already given me background on their relationship.

  “Part of that is my fault.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “How?”

  “I was pretty horrible to him.” She ran her fingers along the pages of the book, allowing them to fan out. “It wasn’t intentional. We had been going through infertility treatments, and it was stressful, demoralizing, and sent me into a bad place.”

  “A couple of my friends struggled with fertility issues, and I know the process can be a roller coaster.”

  Ali nodded rapidly. “Roller coaster, yeah, but what’s even worse? One of those rides that takes you up fifty stories and lets the bottom drop. That’s what it’s been like. When Brad and I got married, we were so happy. He saved me. I had gone through a really dark time before I met him. He brought me back to life. We traveled, we skied, hiked, you name it. Everything changed when we started trying to have a baby.” She sniffed. Then she reached into her purse and swapped the book for a package of tissues. She dabbed her nose before she spoke. “I probably should have asked for help, but I didn’t want anyone to know. It was embarrassing. All of my girlfriends were pregnant. Everywhere I looked there were babies. I felt so alone.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Maybe. It didn’t feel understandable. It felt unfair. Why could everyone else have babies and not me and Brad? A few of our friends weren’t even that excited about having kids. That was the worst part.” She folded the tissue. “Things got pretty bad between us. We were fighting all the time. At first Brad was super supportive. He tried to help. He went to tons of doctors, naturopaths, specialists, but it was obvious that nothing was going to work. Then I started pushing him away. I guess at some strange level, I felt like if I could hurt him, it would make my own pain feel better. When I say that now, I know how messed up that sounds, but at my core I knew that he loved me. He was the only person I could push away, because he was the only person going through it with me.”

  “That’s a lot to carry on your own.”

  She nodded. The strain on her face showed in the tightness of her jawline and the tiny blue veins bulging on her temples. “Brad wanted to go to counseling. He thought I should see someone on my own too. He wanted me to look into taking an antidepressant. I freaked out. He claimed that he was only saying that to ‘get me over the hump,’ but it was like I had hit rock bottom. If Brad thought I needed medication to function, then I must have been a total mess. It brought up so many issues that I thought I had dealt with. Have you ever lost someone you loved?” Ali’s voice cracked.

  “Yes,” I answered truthfully, thinking of being abandoned by my mom. I wasn’t sure which was worse: death or being orphaned.

  “Then you understand. Grief finds a way in.” She twisted her fingers together and cracked them.

  “Did you try counseling?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I went to a therapist every week for three months. I was working really hard to try and feel normal again. That’s when Brad cheated on me.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I reached for her arm.

  She met my eyes. I recognized the expanse of despair on her face. “It was such a blow. I had slowly started to come out of the fog. I was eating again. I had started walking—at first just a couple blocks, and then all around our neighborhood. I was feeling stronger. Feeling more in control. I was even starting to think about other paths to motherhood—adoption, surrogacy, foster parenting.”

  “How did you find out?” I considered telling her about Mac, but the timing didn’t feel right.

  “He told me. Can you believe that?” She shook her head and clutched her hands into fists. “Why? He said he couldn’t live with the guilt. I told him that was selfish. I would rather have never known. He could have taken that secret to his grave, for all I cared.”

  Her response surprised me. I’m not sure I felt the same, but our situations were very different.

  “He claimed it was a one-night stand and that it would never happen again. How could I ever trust him after that? It ripped open my old wounds. It sent me spiraling again. I hated him for telling me. I wanted to kill him.” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. Her voice was laced with anger.

  “But you both seemed so happy when you arrived yesterday, and you’re here celebrating your anniversary.” If I sounded confused, it was because I was confused.

  Ali sighed. “I know. We were. I was pissed at Brad for months, but I kept going to see my therapist because it was the only way I was able to maintain any sense of normalcy. She helped me understand my role in the relationship and how distant I’d been. Eventually, Brad came to sessions with me, and we were able to work things out. In some ways it felt like we were closer than we had ever been before. We had to unpack a lot of baggage and show each other our worst parts.”

  “What happened to change that?”

  “Liv.” Ali’s voice cut like a dagger. “I caught them together. Liv and Brad. He swore that he was meeting her about potentially being a surrogate. He even showed me the contract he’d had our lawyer write up. It was a trigger for me. I believed him, but not one hundred percent. When I spotted them in our favori
te coffee shop, they looked pretty cozy. Brad had his arm around the back of her chair, and they were sitting super close. It didn’t look like a business transaction to me. It looked like they were into each other.”

  Brad hadn’t mentioned that to me. Had he left that part out intentionally, or was Ali extra sensitive, given the fact that he had cheated on her?

  “He called it off. We had been working with an agency but had a potential surrogate fall through, so he said he was only trying to help. I wanted to believe him. I worked hard to believe him and keep moving forward. That was one of the reasons we came for the weekend here. To try and have a purely romantic getaway and take our minds off everything. Our therapist told us to act like newlyweds. To hold hands and kiss and find nice things to say to each other. It was working until last night. When I saw Liv in the bar, I wanted to explode. Brad swears it was just a coincidence. But I’m not an idiot. Seeing that woman here proved that our marriage is over.”

  I thought she was finished talking, but she picked up the tissue she had so carefully folded and scrunched it in her hand. “I’ve been fuming ever since. I don’t know when or if I’ve ever felt this much rage.” Her knuckles turned white. “I’m actually scaring myself.”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  ALI WAS SCARING ME TOO, with her bulging eyes and clenched fists, but I remained calm in my response. I told her about Mac’s infidelity and how I had walked in on him and the beer wench.

  My story seemed to steady her. She loosened her fists.

  “I remember feeling the same way,” I told her in my gentlest tone. “Anger is a normal reaction.”

  She stuffed the crumpled tissue into her purse. “Thanks. That makes me feel better. I just don’t trust myself right now. If I see Brad, I’m afraid I’m going to punch him in the face.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been there.”

  A line had started to form at the bar. She gathered her things. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken way too much of your time. You probably need to get back to work, and I think I’ll go walk around the village and try to move through some of this negative energy. I really appreciate you listening. It helped—a lot.”

  “Anytime.” I gave her a half hug before she left. I felt a connection to Ali. Her pain was visible on every pore on her face, but she had also just admitted that she had gone into a rage—her word, not mine—at the sight of Liv. She’d been through a lot—infertility, depression, Brad’s infidelity. Could she have snapped? I didn’t want her to be Liv’s killer, but I couldn’t rule her out either. She definitely had motive, and she wasn’t functioning at the most rational level at the moment.

  I looked over to where Chief Meyers was holding her interviews. She was in the middle of a conversation with Kevin’s friend Swagger. I didn’t want to bother her but made a mental note to give her a quick recap of what Ali had just told me. At this rate, I was going to have to ask her to keep me on a retainer. Now, that would infuriate April. I chuckled to myself as I ducked between tables and returned to the bar.

  “Check out the Berlin Bars,” Kat said, pointing to the platter, where only four bars remained.

  “We sold that many?” I was incredulous. It wasn’t yet dinnertime. The happy hour crowd rarely went for dessert. I’d figured they would disappear later in the evening but not this early.

  “Blame Garrett. He’s been telling everyone they’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.”

  “That sounds like an exaggeration.”

  “I don’t know. People are loving them. I’m no expert, but I think you have a winner in that recipe.” Kat bent down to adjust her UGGs. “Are there more in the kitchen?”

  Fortunately, Ursula’s recipe made six dozen bars. “Yeah, I’ll go restock. How are we doing on food orders?”

  “Fine. The soup’s been a big hit, but mainly people are drinking and swapping ski stories.” Kat’s dimples pierced her cheeks when she made a sheepish face. “Well, that and some chatter about the murder. I think there are a few people hanging out in hopes of listening in on the police interviews.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Swapping ski stories sounded more like the usual happy hour crowd. It was interesting to learn the rhythm of the pub. Our day typically started with a handful of regulars who ambled in and enjoyed a leisurely pint. They came for socialization more than the beer. We knew them by name and knew about their families, jobs, personal struggles. The modern craft brewery had become a community gathering space. People from every socioeconomic range and cultural background could find a place to connect or enjoy a brief respite from their day. As the lunch hour approached, a business crowd tended to spill into the pub (assuming we weren’t in the height of festival season). These were predominantly locals who made valuable use of their lunch breaks to stop by for a bite. As the afternoon wore on, more tourists tended to come in, followed by the happy hour crowd, like we were experiencing now. Since we weren’t a sit-down restaurant, dinner wasn’t a huge draw, but we got a nice share of business from people wanting a quieter off-the-beaten-path place to share a small meal and from people who wanted to keep the evening going after having dinner somewhere else. Each window of time brought a different energy to Nitro. Garrett had asked me once if I had a favorite, and I couldn’t pick one. I supposed it was because I liked that we were in constant flux, the rotation of new and old faces in and out of our doors, and serving up our carefully crafted beers and food with genuine appreciation that people had chosen to spend even a small part of their day with us.

  I stacked more Berlin Bars on a plate and checked on the soup pots simmering on the stove.

  Chief Meyers had finished her interview when I brought the plate with the strategically stacked dessert treats to the bar.

  “Do you have a second?” I asked the chief, pausing to refill their teacups with hot water.

  “What have you got for me?” She clicked her ballpoint pen.

  I gave her a quick rundown of my chat with Ali. Like before, she made a few notes, but mostly nodded as I recounted Ali’s frustration and deep suspicion that Brad and Liv were having an affair.

  “It is an odd coincidence. Not impossible. But noteworthy.” She stuffed her pen into the spiral circles of her notebook. “Thanks, Sloan. Anything else like that you can learn, bring it to me.”

  “Will do.” It felt good to know that if nothing else, I was providing her with information. I just wished there was more I could do. At times like this, I regretted going into the beer business instead of something more tangible when it came to the public good—like criminology.

  I didn’t have time to ruminate on my role in the investigation or Ali as a potential killer because Mac and Hans arrived together.

  Damn. I had almost forgotten that I had agreed to have our long-overdue “talk” tonight.

  “Do you want to sit up here or go to my office?” I asked, meeting them at the door.

  “Your office is the size of a coat closet, Sloan. We won’t fit in there, unless you want to get cozy.” Mac winked.

  “Up here is fine.” I pointed to a tall table with three barstools that was being vacated by a group of doctors I recognized. “Grab that one. I’ll get us drinks.” I didn’t need to ask what they wanted. I knew that Hans would opt for something light like our honey wheat blonde, while Mac would definitely go for a stout—or three. Before I got our beers, I swung by the bathroom to appraise myself. A long day in the pub compounded by Liv’s murder had left my face looking tired. I knotted my hair into a low bun and splashed water on my face. Then I massaged my cheeks with moisturizer and applied a shimmery lip gloss and a touch of matching eye shadow that brought out the gold and green flecks in my eyes. I would never describe myself as a great beauty, but I knew I wasn’t unattractive, thanks to my Grecian features. Since Mac had cheated on me with the beer wench who wasn’t much older than Alex, I had developed the annoying habit of noticing every tiny line on my forehead or hint of an age spot on my angular cheeks. I didn’t
like this unfamiliar insecurity.

  “You’ve got this, Sloan.” I gave myself a pep talk, feeling slightly more refreshed.

  * * *

  “Cheers,” I said, setting their pint glasses on the table along with my water glass. We maintain a strict rule of no drinking while serving. When we’re brewing, we tend to taste as we go and will often have a pint while we’re working out new recipes or testing new hop varieties. I knew of some pubs where the beertenders would pour one pint for the customer and one for themselves. Not only was that a violation of liquor laws, but it set a bad precedent and tone. A bartender should be in charge and in a clear state of mind.

  “You brought me a stout?” Mac scowled.

  “You love stouts.” I looked to Hans to back me up.

  Mac flexed his arm muscles. “Not since I started weight lifting. It’s only light beer for me now.”

  “But you ordered one earlier.”

  He pressed his hands on his stomach. “I’m working on a six-pack of abs. No more six-packs for me. One heavy beer for me a day. That’s my limit.”

  “Okay. I’ll have Garrett offer this as a comp and get you something else.”

  Hans stopped me. “Sit, Sloan. I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll go get Mac another beer.” Hans must have come directly from his workshop. He was dressed in his Carhartt pants and a fine layer of sawdust. The only thing missing was his tool belt. It was rare to see him without a hammer or screwdriver at the ready. I loved that Hans always smelled of cedar and sandalwood. I also loved that he always came to my defense, regardless of the fact that Mac was his flesh and blood, not to mention much older brother.

  “Thanks.” Although I would rather have had another couple minutes to get in the right headspace.

  “My kid brother,” Mac scoffed. “Always trying to show me up.”

  “How is he showing you up?” I watched Hans with his long stride as he easily chatted with Garrett at the bar. Mac and his brother couldn’t be more opposite. Hans was tall and thin with blond hair, a scruffy beard, and a calm demeanor. Mac, was shorter, bulkier, with light blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a tendency to flip out over the small things.